The Devil and Mrs. Claus

"You hate it?" I said. "You can't lie to a man who can see your wet cunt for himself. I can smell you, Mrs. Claus, and I can see you. I can see how much you want this. You glisten."

"Whatever. Just get on with it."

I smiled though she couldn't see. "I'll make you a deal," I said. "Tell me how much you want me to eat you out and I won't do it. I'll release you from your mistletoe obligation."

"Huh?"

"Just say that you want me to lick you. To suck on your clit. To probe your depths with my tongue."

"And you'll stop this?"

"I will."

She let out a deep breath. "Okay. I want you to kiss me... down there. Satisfied?"

I laughed and the vibrations of my breath caused an immediate shudder as her inner labia contracted then released. Through the skirt I could hear Mrs. Claus' breath grow faster and more ragged. On top of the alcohol and my little reindeer games, she probably hadn't been properly fucked in decades.

"Satisfied?" I said. "Hardly. Describe it to me in detail. Describe to me exactly what you want me to do."

"Goodness you're aggravating! Fine. I want you to, uh, stick your tongue in."

"In where?"

"You know where. In my pussy."

"Go on."

"Then I want you to wiggle it around a little."

"Yes?"

"And then... and then I want you to start licking my slit up and down."

"That all?" I asked.

"Make little circles around the hole, and go in every once in a while."

Finally we were getting somewhere. I had broken her from stock answers and she was having to come up with unique responses; that was, she was having to think about it. A trickle of moisture from her pussy began to run down her inner thigh.

"What next? What about the clitoris?"

"I want you to be gentle. Kiss it lightly first. Then start licking."

"How about my fingers? Should I use those too? Should I diddle your twat while I'm licking your clit?"

"That would be... nice," she said. I could hear desire straining her voice.

"Do you want me to make you cum?"

"Y-yes..." she said reluctantly. Her stance was shifting now from foot to foot. It was obviously excruciating to be so turned on, so close to relief, yet have nothing happen. Her pussy angled closer to my mouth and I had to pull away slightly. I would not touch her or let her touch me. Not yet.

"I'm going to kiss you now, is that what you really want?" I asked.

"Yes. No. But wait, you said--"

"A verbal agreement is not a binding contract, and in no way changes our situation. I lied to you, Mrs. Claus. You still owe me this mistletoe kiss. And I will take it from you -- there's nothing you can do to stop that from happening. So tell me truthfully, because there's no reason for you to lie: do you want me to kiss you?"

Her knees shook, nearly buckling with desire. Her pussy walls were red-pink, engorged, and her clitoris stood out like a baby in swaddling.

"Yes, dammit!" she said. "Yes, I want you to kiss me. I want to feel your fucking tongue in my fucking cunt right fucking now, you son-of-a--"

I found the place on her thigh, just above her stocking, where the small trickle from her pussy had trailed. I began my kiss there and licked upwards, following the sweet-spicy flavor, until I was rough over her mound and into her hole.

She froze at first, clenched body-wide, then she began bucking, grinding her clit onto the ridge of my nose, and I knew she was already in climax.

I stabbed up with my tongue as her honey ran down into my mouth. She reached down and held me through her skirt, rubbing her sex all over my face as wave upon wave of orgasm coursed through her body.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" Mrs. Claus squealed.

A half-minute later her wild thrashing had diminished into occasional quivers. Finally she stepped backwards and her skirt slipped over my head, letting me see her once again. Her normally pale features were deeply flushed and her eyes were smoky and unfocused. Even through bra and party dress, I could see her small nipples outlined.

"There," she said, her voice lower than I'd ever heard it before. "You had your kiss. Now get out."

I chuckled. "Not so fast, Mrs. Claus. Elven rules are tricky things, you know? Where sexual congress is concerned, there isn't much that's unambiguous... except for this: pleasure must be reciprocal. Which means that one partner's climax demands the other's. And since you've clearly enjoyed yourself..." I pointed to the evidence all over my face. "Now it's my turn."

Mrs. Claus' expression was a tangle of desire and despair. She looked to her bedroom door.

"It's barely midnight in the East Coast, U.S.," I said. "We have hours."

She sighed. Utterly broken. If I'd had a heart, it would have soared. The best part about it was that this particular rule didn't actually apply, because I wasn't really an elf; she would have been perfectly within her rights to refuse. But she didn't know that. "How do you want me?" she asked.

"First the dress. You said you were hot earlier, and I don't want you too uncomfortable."

Mrs. Claus nodded, then slipped the dress above her head and let it drop to the floor. She stood gloriously before me in her lingerie, making a too-late attempt at modesty by holding her hand over her bra-clad breasts.

"Remove the bra," I said.

She shook her head in self-disgust and unclasped the bra, letting it fall atop the crumpled dress.

"Panties."

She slipped them down, too, then started to take off her boots.

"No," I said. "Keep the rest on." She stood before me in a green garter belt attached to black stockings, and her buckled boots. Otherwise she was as nude as Eve, a fact that I could attest to personally. She kept trying to hide herself, holding her hands in front of her rosebud nipples and the brownish-red curls atop her pubic mound.

"Hands behind your back."

She stared fire at me, but obeyed. Having been stripped of her surface dignity, Mrs. Claus was at heart no better than the commonest whore consigned to my underworld kingdom. I walked close to survey her naked flesh. Her pussy lips still stood out, puffed. Part of her was enjoying this humiliation -- that deep-down part which had always belonged to me.

"Stand with feet apart," I commanded. "Wider."

She did as instructed, and I inhaled her feminine spice-rack fragrance again. I planted a small kiss on her clitoris. Mrs. Claus moaned.

"Very good. Now down on all fours and present."

Mrs. Claus dropped to her knees and bent forward on the carpet, just before the bed. She came to rest with her breasts on the ground, her ass high in the air. I stood behind her, her asshole directly in front of my face, and licked straight from the clitoris up and into her anus. She cried out.

"A little sensitive back there, huh? Let's see what we can do about that." I looked around the room for solutions, and a couple of items caught my eye. First, and most importantly, I dragged a plush green ottoman from a matching reading chair in the corner of the bedroom. I would need something to stand on in order to reach her properly. Secondly, I noticed and swiped a hooked homemade candy cane from off of a corner desk, which I freed from its wax paper wrapper.

I positioned the ottoman behind Mrs. Claus. She was doing very good, holding position for me like that. Her pussy and asshole were now open wide; I could do anything I wanted. I slid my own clothing down, freeing my rock hard, tiny dick, then climbed up the ottoman. It put me at the perfect height, able to reach pussy or ass as I chose. Then I slid the candy cane quickly in and out of her vagina. It came out sparkling and lubricated.

Holding the candy cane by its crook, I positioned the tip at the point of entry for her asshole. She instinctively shied away at first, but I held it there patiently, and she eased back towards me again. I pressed the candy cane into her rectum. At first she squeezed back, and it was tough to push it in deeper, but after a few seconds she relented, and the candy cane glided effortlessly in, leaving just the handle sticking out.

"You're so hard," Mrs. Claus said, her voice slightly muffled by the carpet.

"I am, but that's not me you're feeling."

"Wha--?"

"This is me." I grabbed her hips over her garter straps and slid my elven cock into her pussy. She was naturally tight, I could tell, but my own penis was so small that it met no resistance. I pumped quickly like a puppy humping a leg, stopping every time my belly met the protruding candy cane.

It felt delicious -- especially knowing who she was -- but I wasn't provoking the kind of reaction I'd hoped for. She just whimpered slightly. I wanted her screaming my name. Elf dicks were just too damned small. I couldn't risk undoing my glamour, not yet; Mrs. Claus had powerful magic herself, and who knew what she might do if she learned my true identity before I was completely her master? But I figured I could manipulate a single part without giving the whole game away.

I took the glamour off of my penis and felt it slowly expand to its true, unholy dimensions. It quickly stuffed Mrs. Claus' buttered muffin, but I kept putting it to her as it grew.

"What? What is that? What's going o--oh, oh God," Mrs. Claus said.

The base of my cock came out glazed like a donut, red like the rest of my natural flesh, and covered in thick black hair. I slammed it back home.

"So big, so big," Mrs. Claus cried. "Too big, oh... fuck, so good..."

This was more like it.

I pushed in as deeply as I could go, the candy cane digging into me, until I felt her cervix. I stopped there so that she could savor my girth.

"Jesus Christ, I have never been so full," she said.

I held position, stretching her twat; it would never feel the same for Kris Kringle after this.

"Give me your hands," I said.

Mrs. Claus lifted her hands from the ground until she was solely supported by her chin and chest, and I guided them behind her back. I grabbed both of her thumbs tightly into my fist, my cock throbbing inside of her, as I prepared for the final act.

"Who's your Daddy Claus?" I asked.

"Santa," she said into the carpet.

"Wrong answer." I pulled back my cock like a cue stick, then slammed into her ferociously, my large Satanic nutsack slapping against her clit. She screamed in pleasure and pain.

"Who's your Daddy Claus?"

"Santa."

I thrust forward again, making her yelp.

"Who?"

"Santa!"

I began to fuck. Methodically. Punctuating every savage plunge with my question -- "Who?" Every time she replied "Santa," I lunged in again. My balls kept time on her mound, the wet slaps getting faster and harder. Whap whap whap. She struggled to pull her hands free, but I held tight.

"Ah! Oh God!" she yelled. "I think you're breaking me!"

I wasn't breaking her, but the candy cane handle snapped off as I battered this slut's cunt with my cock and balls.

"Who's your Daddy Claus?" I asked again, but this time she couldn't answer at all. She was caught up in the feeling of being utterly fucked by a beast. Her cries were mixed together and meaningless as I speared her again and again.

Then, knowing that she was completely insensible except to the growing pressure in her groin, I decided that the time was right.

I extinguished my glamour. I kicked the ottoman away with my cloven hooves as I grew, and hunched over Mrs. Claus to keep inside of her, and I continued to buck at her backside like a wild animal. My hand holding hers grew to full-size, red and muscular with sharp nails.

Fully restored to my powerful body, I ratcheted up her drilling.

"Please," she said, "please, I can't take this anymore."

"Who's your Daddy Claus?!"

"You are," she cried. "You are!"

"And who am I?" Still holding her hands in my own, I put my other hand under her belly at about her navel, and lifted her up off of the ground. In mid-air, impaled on my flagpole dick, I spun her around so that she was looking up at the ceiling, then I laid her down on her back as I continued to screw her senseless.

"Who am I, bitch?"

"You--you're Satan!" she screamed.

I reached down and grabbed ahold of her clitoris, giving it a tiny little squeeze. I knew that would send her over. Her second orgasm of the night kicked in, ten times bigger than the last had been. Her eyelids fluttered and a wordless scream formed in her lips. She couldn't even breathe, but a wee-little sound escaped from her like a punctured balloon.

She writhed on the ground underneath me. My piston never stopped. And then I came with her, emptying my enormous balls. She quickly filled up, and semen splashed out from her pussy, drenching the base of my cock and the carpet.

She continued to moan and thrash, her orgasm lingering, and I spewed a second load into her depths.

Finally drained, I relented and drew away from her. Mrs. Claus mewled in protest, trying weakly to hold me against her with her booted feet. I looked at her spread before me, completely wrecked, and smiled. Then I used my claws to extract the broken candy cane from her butthole. It came out with a small plop.

I handed her the candy. She took it without complaint and absently began licking it, looking up at me with desire and fear.

I stood, took the quilted blanket from the bed and used it to wipe the sex away from my prodigious member. I then dropped the blanket onto Mrs. Claus, who took it thankfully and nestled underneath, still sucking on her candy cane like a little girl on Christmas morn.

"Who's your Daddy Claus?" I asked her.

"Satan's my daddy," she said in a small voice. She curled up with her candy cane.

"Damn right," I said. "Now clean up before your husband gets home. You look like a used whore."

Reveling in ultimate victory over my rival -- cuckolding him through his hot-ass bitch wife in his own home -- I turned away without looking at her again and strode from the bedroom, headed for the exit from the Workshop and then a long victorious trek back to Hell.

As I approached the door, however, a fearful voice called out from behind. It was Bossy Elf.

"Uhm, Satan?" he asked, his voice full of fear.

I laughed. "Yeah kid?"

"I, uh, have something for you. A Christmas present."

"A... Christmas present? For me?"

"Yeah, strange right? But it was in my bed in the barracks. Looks like a letter to you, says 'Merry Christmas' on the front. I didn't know what to make of it, so I just came back here to clean up before Santa gets back, but then--"

"Enough!" I said. "Let me see this letter!"

He shuffled towards me, holding the letter out as far away from himself as he could. I snatched it from his hands and cracked open Santa's wax seal.

The letter read: "Merry Christmas, Lord of Lies! When Mrs. Claus sat on my knee and told me that what she really wanted for Christmas was the best sex of her life, I didn't know quite how to give that to her. I'm getting up there in age, and personally sex doesn't much appeal anymore. And the rest of the elves, well, there's not enough dick between them to please a greedy woman like Mrs. Claus. But I always come through. Especially for my wife. I've been watching you -- I see everything, you know, I'm fucking Santa Claus -- and I know that this is your big night. You've been so easy to manipulate, so brainless, I feel like I owe you milk and cookies. But since I don't slum in that garbage dump you call a kingdom, I guess you'll just have to consider this your only-ever Xmas gift. Ho, ho, ho, you dumb bitch. -- Jolly Old Saint Nicholas."

I crumpled up the letter and considered killing Bossy. But then, no. I smiled.

"He's good," I said. "Damn him to Hell, but he's good."

Bossy stared at me uncomprehendingly. I threw the wadded letter into his face and walked into the freezing Arctic night. It was a season for giving, and apparently I'd been tricked into both giving a gift, and receiving one. I descended towards home, warmed by thoughts of the pussy juice still drying on my cock, and by my plans for further revenge against a surprisingly worthy adversary. I felt all aglow.

Maybe Christmas wasn't so bad after all.